


Phones and Scones

by Midonyah



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midonyah/pseuds/Midonyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock just found out that Mycroft has been tapping into their phone lines. Again.<br/>They also discovered that, although he promised not too, he's almost always listening in. AGAIN.<br/>Really, the term "Big Brother" seems to have been invented JUST FOR MYCROFT!<br/>But this time, they have a plan. Yes, this time, next time they're on the phone and they suspect Mycroft is listening in, they are going to make him so disgusted that he won't be able to finish his tea-time scone.<br/>... They are going to fight this.... with love. They know Mycroft does not like to hear them, see them or even *imagine* them acting out on their feelings for each other. And frankly, they're not really that expansive in front of people anyway.<br/>But this time, they have a common goal. This time, they even have a contest.<br/>They are going to make the cutest, most romantic, most adorable love declamations to each other on the phone.<br/>The first one to make Mycroft hang up wins.<br/>.... The Game is on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phones and Scones

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been prompted following a particularly funny and cringey Facebook post featuring fictional love declaration exchanges between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.  
> It it not meant to be serious, and no scones were harmed during the writing of this fic. I promise.

Two rings and a half. It was more believable this way.

 

« Watson, here. »

 

John's voice was steady, almost like he didn't know who was calling. Sherlock smiled, and quickly made the grin disappear to switch to an almost-annoyed tone.

 

« I know it's you. Who else is it gonna be ? »

« … Sherlock. »

« Why do you always say that ? You always say that. »

« Well, yes, it's a way of letting the people who are calling the flat who they're talking to. Potential clients, that sort of stuff. Common courtesy. » John frowned a little bit. They had not rehearsed one bit, and he was wondering if Sherlock actually remembered the point of the phone call. Not recognising the caller ID, he asked « … What's wrong with your mobile ?

« I'm using it. Can't phone you and navigate a website at the same time. Terribly inconvenient. »

« What's wrong with mine, then ? »

« I wanted to call the landline. »

« … Why ? »

« … So I could hear you say « Watson, here ». »

 

John tilted his head a little, frowned a little bit, then smiled and sat down in his armchair. The man had not forgotten.

 

«  Really ? Why is that ?

« I... I like the idea of calling « Home » and having you pick the phone up. »

John smiled a little more. _Of course_ Sherlock would do more than play the game they had agreed on. He was going to use it as an excuse to say things that he normally wouldn't allow himself to say. And blame it all on the « Game » if it became too sentimental. Beautiful nutter.

«  Sherlock, that's... that's actually quite sweet of you to say. »

 

***ding** *

Sherlock's mobile chimed.

 

**I * knew* you were capable of saying sweet things.:)**

**Is he listening in ? JW**

 

John's screen didn't even have the time to go dark as the response came through :

 

**Yes. I can see him, and his enormous plate of tea-time scones. Disgusting. Little black earpiece. Say something to make him squirm. SH**

 

 

«  You know I'll always be here for you, Sherlock. Even if you call in the middle of the night, and you do, I'll always answer if I know it can be you. »

 

 

**Perfect. SH**

 

 

«  I know. » Sherlock's tone was endearing, almost sounding really sincere. John didn't really know if he could let himself believe it, the man had used those acting skills in front of him so many times that he knew he had to be really careful, but god that was a nice feeling to have, hearing Sherlock Bloody Holmes talk to him like that.

And the man kept on talking, while John sat back a little in his armchair and looked through the window at the grey London weather.

 

«  I realised why yesterday's case made me feel so unsettled. I finally understood why. »

« Really, baby ? Why's that ? »

John knew that the detective never used anything else than his name to call him (« what's the point ? It's not any less endearing than « Love » or « baby ». It's your name. I _like_ your name. John. Jooohn. It's endearing to me»), but that didn't stop him from indulging into a little pet-name-calling himself in private. He dreamt of the day he could call Sherlock « Love » in the middle of New Scotland Yard, but for now, he was happy with being able to do so behind the walls of 221B.

«  It's all rather stupid, really. I don't even know what's gotten into me. I think you are having a strange effect on my.... my _feelings_. »

The word was spat out, in a repulsive manner the Holmes brothers mastered so well, but it wasn't less endearing to John.

«  Really ? Let's hear it, then. »

« You... You know that letter the lawyer wrote ? »

« To his brother ? »

« Of course, there's only one letter I could be speaking about in this particular setting. »

« Right, right. So ? » John scratched his head a little bit, trying to remember the exact content of the letter.

«  So, all that irrelevant stuff about « tell Amy I love her » and such.... It made me think. »

John tried to stifle a laugh, but ended up letting it go. He knew _exactly_ where this was going.

« Everything makes you think, Baby. »

« That's not the point. »

« I know, I know. I'm sorry. Please, continue. » Oh, John was really enjoying this, after all. Almost... Not cringey. He let himself bask in the warm feeling that puddled in his belly, closed his eyes, and just _listened_.

« It made me think. About how he didn't have the time to let her know that he loved her. And now he's dead, and it's too late, and I thought he was so stupid because he had ample time to let her know, but then I realised... I realised I was in exactly the same situation, so I would like you to sit, or rather remain seated right where you are, and just listen to me for a little while. I need to get this out of my head, I can't think straight and it's really quite impractical. »

The line remained silent as Sherlock was waiting for his lover's answer, and he frowned a little bit.

« … John ? »

« I'm here, Sherlock, I'm here. Sorry. Go ahead. »

 

And John braced himself for it. He didn't care anymore about any stupid contest, or anybody listening in, he simply kept his eyes closed, smiling as a tiny ray of sunshine hit his face through the window. It was perfect.

 

«  … I love you, John Hamish Watson » Sherlock began. He was not using his monotone voice as if he was reciting some lines, this actually seemed heartfelt and full of emotions in that funny way that Sherlock had to appear physically _bothered_ by his own feelings. It was like music to John's ears, now that he knew how to interpret the « discomfort ». It was glorious.

« For a long while, I did not think I was even capable of feeling such a thing. I gradually... tolerated your presence more and more. Until the day I realised that I was... happier when you were around. My thoughts were more organised. And whenever it became impossible for me to concentrate because of the whirlwind of voices in my head, you always had this... weird way of touching my shoulder, or even just look at me with those eyes, you know which ones, and... and it would just _stop_. You had a unique way of clearing my thoughts, and then everything made perfect sense.

I was... distraught on the day I understood what it meant for me. You remember. I'm sorry about that, by the way, I never really said. But it just.... it just dawned on me that I cared, I genuinely cared about you. I needed you, and I loved you, and it was dangerous because I knew that when eventually something would happen to you I would be destroyed. You can... You can always go back to your old boring life, find a wife, have some kids or some other nonsense but for me, it was over. I could never find anybody else like you, I could never feel anything this intense about anybody else, ever. And it was dangerous, not only for me but also for you, because you represented so much to me and you had just basically become leverage against me, and after spending so much time detaching myself from worldly concerns and cares it was ironic, really, how easily you had just stepped into my life and swept all that away, and just.... Just replaced it all, and I didn't even care.

I panicked, of course I panicked, I had never felt so terrified in my life, nobody ever had that much power over me, and I... and I never had the time to get used to all these... these _feelings_ » (again, the word was spat out with disgust but John knew better and repressed a love-struck giggle) « they all dawned upon me at once and I had to take some time to analyse all that until it made sense, and... »

 

Sherlock frowned, strangely out of breath. He didn't realise he had been really, really invested in the speech he just made and as words came out one after the other he had just let himself be carried in the strangely easy flow of emotions. He took a second, just a tiny second to compose himself quickly, cleared his throat a little bit, and prepared to deliver his killer blow.

 

« … and it makes sense, now. I get that. All this time I thought my mind ruled everything, but I see now that... I apparently also have a heart, in that figurative way you love to refer to, and that I had to accept that sometimes, it was alright for it to rule over my cognitive capacities for a little while, and it didn't make me weaker for it. On the contrary. I am now capable of caring, and even if it is presently just for you and for you only, I still think it might be an improvement, even though it makes me act irrationally most of the time. And I don't mind. Strangely, I don't mind at all. I _love_ you, John, and I even understand the meaning of the word, now, all because of you.

… And I like it. I like it very much. »

 

…. John didn't know how to respond to that. Bloody hell, how was one supposed to respond to that ? He didn't have the man's mastery of the English language, he couldn't juggle with words the way Sherlock just did. He only had his heart, and he could only feel. He tried to muster enough coherence in his brain to respond quickly enough, for fear of leaving Sherlock and his Brain alone for too long and having to hear him take it all back, but it was proving difficult.

 

« …. I'm done, John, you can speak, now. »

« Yeah... Yeah, I know, just.... Give me a minute. » He managed. He sat up straighter in his armchair, looking at the detective's empty one across the room, and suddenly he couldn't wait for him to get home. « That... that was beautiful, Sherlock. God, what do you want me to say to that ? »

« You don't have to say anything. I won, he choked up on his second scone five minutes ago. »

John snorted, and said playfully « He did ? »

« Yes, it was absolutely delightful. Wish I could have taken a photograph. I don't think we'll be the source of his next tea-time entertainment for a little while. That was a great idea you had. I don't know why I'm still surprised, I really have to adjust my expectations of you, I'm getting tired of feeling pleasantly surprised. It's exhausting. »

« … Right. » answered John, not quite sure if it was a compliment or an insult, but after that heartbreaking declaration, it couldn't really be harmful. And then he realised that even though his brother had stopped listening to them, apparently for a little while, Sherlock had still finished his little speech, and John had listened, and he really, really had to make the man understand just how much that had meant to him. « You... Are you coming home anytime soon ? »

« Yes, in about twenty-two minutes, more or less, depending on the cab. Why ? »

« Because I have plans for the evening. »

« Really ? » Sherlock smirked, perfectly aware of how most of the evening planned by John ended up. « … Should I be worried ? »

« Not at all. You know that dreadful text-tone that Woman added to you phone ? »

« …. Yeees ? »

« You were right. I _am_ jealous. I'm going to spend most of the evening, and the night if I have to, with that medical recording device of yours on the bedside table. I'm going to make you moan again and again until I get my own, perfect text-tone. »

John could actually _hear_ Sherlock blush, he had this habit of tousling his curls when he was getting embarrassed, on the rare occasions where John managed to make him blush or turn him on enough to derail his train of thoughts. And he loved every second of it.

« I... I see. »

« You get back here as soon as you can. I might not be able to tell you exactly how I feel about you, but I can damn well _show_ it to you until you collapse from exhaustion. »

« …. I'm getting in a cab in a second. »

« I'm thinking four or five times. Maybe six. For a start. How long does the battery on your recording-thingy last, usually ? »

 

There was no answer. John did not hear the distinctive clicking noise the phones made when they were hung up, and he chuckled at the thought of the other end of the line currently dangling in the phone booth, his lover in too much of a hurry to hang it up correctly.

Hanging up his own end of the landline, he headed straight up the stairs to their bedroom, and began opening one drawer after another.

In the back of the first cab Sherlock could find, he was halfway through sorting out his money so he could throw the required amount at the driver as soon as they approached home when his phone chimed.

 

**You know those handcuffs you “borrowed” from Lestrade last week ? Do we still have those ? JW**

 

**Sock drawer, top left. SH**

 

**Thanks, Baby. JW**

 

**You hardly need to add your initials. Nobody else calls me « Baby » while planning to use handcuffs. SH**

 

 

One more right turn, and they would be less than five minutes away from home. Sherlock really, really had to invent some sort of teleportation device in the near future.

 

 

**Got them. Hurry up, « Baby »**.

 

Sherlock smiled.

 

… **JW.**

 


End file.
